


Hero Worship

by deathtosanepeople



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Alcohol, Bawson - Freeform, F/M, Female Character of Color, Phone Calls & Telephones, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 06:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8316931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathtosanepeople/pseuds/deathtosanepeople
Summary: It had quickly become a habit, those late night phone calls. Those stolen hours hovering between dusk and dawn had become their safe space. They talked almost every night. They talked about almost everything. No matter what happened during the day, good or bad, no matter how they felt, angry or happy or sad, the phone calls were a place where they could be honest, confess their innermost thoughts free of judgement, draw comfort from someone understanding.





	

**Author's Note:**

> so I know everyone and their mom has already done a fic about the bawson phone calls, but I was just thinking about the poster in her room, and the utter hero worship she must have had for Lawson, and it reminded me of how I'm kind of the same way with markiplier, (talking to my computer while watching his videos, having him as a big encouragement in my everyday life) and I thought that maybe Ginny felt something similar
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading!

It had quickly become a habit, those late night phone calls. Those stolen hours hovering between dusk and dawn had become their safe space. They talked almost every night. They talked about almost everything. No matter what happened during the day, good or bad, no matter how they felt, angry or happy or sad, the phone calls were a place where they could be honest, confess their innermost thoughts free of judgement, draw comfort from someone understanding. 

Ginny has started to find it difficult to go to sleep without hearing Mike’s rumbling timbre in her ears before she drifts off. 

Tonight when she calls him she’s a little tipsy, fresh from a night out with the team after a particularly rousing victory against the Yankees. It had been a heated game, the Yanks were still mad about the Padres “stealing” Livan Duarte from right under their noses.

“Ring, ring,” she giggles into the receiver. 

“I just saw you twenty minutes ago, Baker,” comes Mike’s amused drawl. 

“Just letting you know I got in safe.” She thumps back on her hotel bed, lazily trying to kick off her shoes.

“‘Preciate it. You should get some sleep, you seem like you maybe had a little too much of that patron you were knocking back.”

She shakes her head emphatically in denial, her curls brushing against the mic. 

“Did you just shake your head, Baker? You know I can’t see you, right?”

She giggles again, finally managing to kick off her strappy heels. She tucks her legs up under her, cuddling into the mattress, pressing as close to the phone as she can. 

“I’m not thattttt drunk,” she promises, knowing that it’s a lie.

“Well, then it’s totally okay if I take advantage of your not-drunkeness to ask you about that poster. I wanna know, Baker, did little you really have a full size poster of me up on her wall?”

She bites her lip, considering. She knows him so well now, it doesn’t seem as weird to tell him. Not like it would have been when she first met him. She wants to tell him though, wants to try and explain how there’s still a part of that little girl inside her, who wakes up some mornings and looks with shining eyes into the mirror and exclaims inside her head, “Mike Lawson! I’m going to go play baseball with Mike Lawson!” and nearly bounces with glee.

“I did,” she murmurs. “Hanging right over my bed.”

He chuckles softly. “I knew it.”

She twirls a curl on her finger, gaze unfocused as she reaches back to the past.

“I used to talk to you, y’know.”

He hums a note of surprise. “Did you now?”

She nods again, before remembering he really can’t see her. Sometimes these conversations are so intimate she forgets that he isn’t lying right beside her.

“Yeah, yeah I did. It started out with just baseball stuff, what I did at practice that day, how I was progressing on my curve ball, but then, around the time I found out…” 

She swallows, unpleasant feelings welling in her chest. “Around the time I found out my mom was cheating, because I felt like I had no one to talk to, I started telling you about other stuff. How the boys at practice teased me for being a girl, how the girls at school teased me for acting like a boy, how I missed the spring dance, and the winter formal, all about my first crush, my first breakup. Silly kid stuff.”

She doesn’t know why she’s telling him all this, she should stop. How incredibly pathetic must he think her, so alone in her little life that she resorted to talking to the poster of her favorite baseball player? But he hasn’t said anything, hasn’t interjected with a snarky comment yet, and she wants him to know, wants to open the door to talk about those few subjects they had put off limits.

She’s whispering now, gently handling the past in her mouth, each word needing to be considered carefully, or else she might make a mistake. “It became such a habit, I started talking to you about the serious stuff too. My parents divorce, the first time I fell in love, the first time my heart broke. How scared I was of missing out on life because all I’d ever known was baseball, how scared I was of missing out on, or messing up love, like my Dad had.” 

It’s hard to stay focused on one thought, the alcohol is making her brain flow from subject to subject, spilling confessions from her numbed tongue. “I used to curl up next to that headboard, trying to be as close to that dumb poster as I could, and when I was done baring my soul to you I would lay my head on it, and I would promise you that one day I’d make you proud. And I wanted to, almost as much as I wanted to make my Dad proud. Making my Dad proud was half a labor of love, and half burden, and it weighed so heavily on me sometimes I thought I’d drown. But making you proud… it was all want, and no burden, because over time that little ritual had convinced me you would be understanding, and kind, not harsh like my father sometimes was.”

She pauses for a moment, she’s been talking so long, and so fast, she doesn’t even know if he’s still there. But his heavy breathing filters through the line, and she starts up again before he can say anything, wanting to finish.

“And you are, aren’t you?” Her voice is quiet, both hands cupped around the phone, holding it, cradling it like a precious thing. “You’re understanding and kind and you make me feel so good about myself, like I’m actually as good as everyone keeps saying I am, that I’m not as bad as everyone keeps saying I am. And I get to tell you about everything for real now, and even better, I actually get to hear what you say back, and listen to you too. It’s... it's the best part of my day.” 

Her voice cracks a little over the next words, the emotion that’s been building inside her finally finding a way through. “And I’m so glad, I’m so very glad that you’re exactly how I always pictured you would be, because, because it’s always so devastating when your heroes aren’t what you thought they’d be, and there was still a piece of that little girl inside of me, hoping you wouldn’t let her down. But you didn’t, and I… I was so happy when my hero worship changed to friendship. I just… I want to thank you for that, for being such a good friend to me, for sticking up for me when no one else would. I could have made it without you, Mike, but I wouldn’t want to. You… I… I care about you a lot.”

The silence on the other end of the call is deafening, leaving her heart racing, and her fingers clutching round her phone.

When his voice finally comes she’s nearly startled out of her skin, he’d waited so long to answer.

“Jesus, Baker, how much did you drink?!”

Her first instinct is to react indignantly, after all, she did just pour her soul out to him. Admittedly drunkenly, but still. But before she goes to lay into him, she stops. This isn’t her poster at home she’s talking to. This is the real Mike Lawson, her friend, her mentor, a joker and an ass. And this gentle ribbing of his is so much better than the understanding of a silent piece of paper.

She laughs, slowly at first, then building in intensity, her mouth stretch wide, her sides shaking with mirth, and he joins in, his low chuckles warming her through. God, that was exactly what she needed to hear, and he knew it. If he had tried to be serious back, right then, it would have been too heavy, and she would have been incredibly awkward.

“You’re not a good friend,” she jabs.

“I’m the best friend,” he counters. “Why else would you be calling me all the time?”

She scoffs. “Whatever. You’re terrible at feelings.”

“So are you.” 

She murmurs her concession, snuggling deeper into her pillows. “Well, yeah. I talked to a poster on my wall for almost twenty years instead of an actual person.”

“Must mean you’re getting better then. Cuz you’re talking to the real deal now.”

She laughs lightly. “Maybe.”

“And anyway, talking to your favorite baseball player isn’t that weird.”

A grin creeps onto her lips. “I sense a story.”

“I used to talk to my rookie card of my favorite player before every game I played. It was an expensive card, might’ve been worth something someday if I’d kept it a little nicer. But that thing went everywhere with me, still does. Now, that’s all good and well, but the thing about cards is they’re easy things to lose, and the time I misplaced mine was quite the incident.”

Her smile widens and her eyes flutter shut, letting his warm and manly tones lure her towards sleep. She knows his story voice very well, she is in for a long tale. She’d fallen asleep during many of his spiels, he usually being the more chatty of the two of them, but he didn’t seem to mind, he’d just pick it up in their next phone call as soon as she told him what she last remembered. 

She feels comforted listening to him, her shoulders relax back, her mind softens, letting go of the rigid control she has to keep up every day. It makes her warm inside, his growly consonants, her skin shivering at his gritty dips, her heart lulled by his determined, deep tones.

She bites her lip, letting the heat travel from her chest and into her flushing cheeks. She feels so good right now, the alcohol still making her pleasantly fuzzy, his voice seeping into her pores, her fingers lightly brushing over her panties—

She jerks up with a gasp, the phone tumbling to the bed. She pulls her dress over her telltale, wet underwear. God, was she… had she just been… did she just touch herself while listening to Mike talk?

Oh, god. Oh, christ. Oh, shit. 

Mike’s calling for her, his voice muffled by the sheets. 

She picks up the phone gingerly, trying to steady her breathing.

“Hey, rookie, everything alright?”

“Fine,” she says breathlessly. Too breathlessly. 

She clears her throat. “I’m fine, really. I just, I uh, I fell asleep and dropped the phone. It startled me. I should uh, probably get to bed, like you suggested.”   

He laughs, and the easy, warm chuckle does nothing to help the fire racing through her veins and below her waist.

“Alright Baker, sleep well.”

“You too,” she manages to stutter out, before fumblingly hanging up.

She looks at the phone in her trembling hand, dread creeping up to replace the placid, pleasant feeling that had been wrapped around her.

“Shit,” she curses again. “I can’t… Oh, god I can’t— it would be horrible, it’d be a disaster, I’m so stupid… I’m so… stupid.”

She drops her head into her hands, forehead thudding against the edge of her phone. She is so screwed. 

She has feelings for Mike Lawson, and this time, it’s more than just a childhood crush.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if I want to do a chapter two of this, a confrontation between them would be interesting. We'll have to see if inspiration strikes me, or if anyone has prompts they want to throw my way
> 
> Reviews are loved and much appreciated!


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